


whole lotta history

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band), Zayn Malik (Musician)
Genre: AU in the sense that zayn can drive, Hunter AU, M/M, Supernatural AU - Freeform, parking lot handjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-29
Updated: 2015-11-29
Packaged: 2018-05-04 00:07:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5312225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zayn prefers anger to indifference, which is what Harry's given him these days, served cold like the fruit bowl he's so partial to. He doesn't like it, there's a pinch in his guts every time he reaches for Harry to find him stiff and aloof. He needs Harry tactile, leaning over for a cuddle even fresh after a hunt, with the mouth of the gun still hot, when one of them is bleeding and the other is muddy and they're both sweating.</p>
            </blockquote>





	whole lotta history

**Author's Note:**

> This is random. (If you don't watch spn, dead man's blood is used to poison vampires, or slow them down)

It's a black, demon sky all around them, without the stain of clouds or stars. New moon. They're hidden in a dim parking lot, and the distant noise of the bar they got their asses kicked out of is like ghost murmurs in the slow air. Otherwise, it's a quiet night; leftovers in the fridge, the children asleep behind curtains, somewhere in town. 

They're not keeping an ear out for the tearing of flesh tonight, now that the moon's gone.

Zayn's sprawled on the cold hood, ankles crossed, relaxed. He's watching the high fence glint like the eyes of the thing they killed at the edge of Chicago, with a clean bullet ripping through its heart. The thing with the snarling jaws, full of sharp, red teeth, its eyes like flashlights, muzzle hot with blood, like the hot blood sliding down the side of his face.

The blood in his mouth is his own, the blood, slippery between his fingers, is not.

Behind him, Harry swears, slamming the door and making the car shake. His mouth is tight as he dumps a bag beside Zayn's foot, phone lit like a flashlight. He unzips it savagely, and Zayn laughs.

Harry's eyes are narrowed. Zayn's jaw hurts when he grins harder, mouth twisting to a side; he knows his teeth must be red.

Though blood, in the night, is black, and Harry is unimpressed, shaking his head while he's rooting around the bag, aggrieved like he's got the weight of the world set on his shoulders, and in a way, he does.

Zayn says, "You cross with me?" and Harry flips him off.

He thinks they've been fighting for a while now. Well, at least, Harry is fighting with him, and the one way sulk began many weeks ago, many miles ago. Even before the brute wolf-dog went on a rampage and they had a hard time putting him down because Harry wouldn't communicate with him the right way, looking off to the side with his gun pointed carelessly at their feet like he was bored.

Zayn thinks he did something? It must have been one of those bars again with the smoke and the pool tables, the girls with their buttons popped and their hips cocked to the side, and things look blurred and twisted in the dim, greenish lights, especially with alcohol in their veins.

Zayn can testify he's met no one memorable, except Harry's been swinging from affectionate to distant in a way that's making his fingers itch.

He says, "It's not a healthy relationship if you don't talk to me, babe."

Harry doesn't speak for a beat; he's fiddling with their bottle of rubbing alcohol, shaking out a rag.

"Sorry", he says at length. Zayn feels like he's hearing his voice for the first time all week. It's low and tight. He says, "Sorry, but what aspect of anything we do is healthy?"

"All that fruit you eat's gotta account for something", Zayn says, and Harry rolls his eyes, pitches an ironic rimshot noise.

It feels like a small victory, he's managed to engage Harry in an exchange, greater victory when Harry motions to him, crooking a finger, and Zayn is eagerly sliding forward, legs over the front of the car, Harry leaning in with his warm, steady breaths.

Only, this is not what he wanted, Harry's fingers pressing at his jaw to turn his head, quickly dabbing at the cut on his temple. It stings, Zayn squirms away.

"Don't be a child", Harry says as Zayn says, "Give me some warning, fuck."

Harry's placed the lit phone beside them. It lights his chin, throwing an odd shadow over half his face. He turns Zayn's head carefully, squinting at the cut as he cleans it.

The tips of his fingers are cold. He smells like the whisky he accidentally tipped all over himself a while ago, like petrol and all the oranges he ate on the road, scattering the peels all over the place so that the whole car smells of oranges now. He smells fantastic, because he's Harry.

Zayn sits like a good boy, blood streaked hands clasped between his knees, breathing Harry in.

His lips are chapped, turned down. Zayn feels like this is the closest they've been in ages. There was a snick on his chin from the when he was shaving in a damp motel bathroom and Zayn appeared in the mirror without warning and his knife slipped, (shaving with a buck knife like a show off, what else is new, but the scar has gone white, it's been that long.)

They kissed pressed to the sink with a drop of blood going down Harry's throat; with Harry tugging at Zayn's belt with something like anger, and what else is new.

Zayn prefers anger to indifference, which is what Harry's given him these days, served cold like the fruit bowl he's so partial to. He doesn't like it, there's a pinch in his guts every time he reaches for Harry to find him stiff and aloof. He needs Harry tactile, leaning over for a cuddle even fresh after a hunt, with the mouth of the gun still hot, when one of them is bleeding and the other is muddy and they're both sweating.

He needs Harry soft against him in the night, kissing him in the morning with his mouth full of berries. When you kill for a living, you need all the tenderness you can get, just for the sake of sanity, but Harry won't talk to him.

Although, he's been goading Zayn all night and it's not like Zayn's foggy on what this is about. 

"Are you a jealous twat?" He says, throwing caution and prayer to the wind because Harry's dabbing at his mouth where the bastard's ring tore his lip and it's a position of dangerous advantage.

Harry only snorts, carefully not looking Zayn in the eye. He says, "I'm not the one fucked up right now."

"I fucked him up worse."

"You really didn't."  

"You should have seen me, I was like", Zayn fists his hands, hitting gently at Harry's belly, making his mouth curl like he's gonna smile. "I was sick."

"I saw you and you were a little embarrassing."

"You were off to the side spilling your drink all over yourself."

Harry does laugh then, first time in ages and it's the best thing in the world. He's saying, "I had to pull you out from under him, Zayn."

"I had to do the same thing with you? He was all over you, the fucker."

Harry sighs, weight of the world and all that, and he's not smiling anymore. "You're the jealous twat tonight."

"The tables have turned?"

Harry twists the rag in his hands, leaning away. "It's not like that", he says, such a sulk to his voice that Zayn wants to reel him in very close, but he's not sure if that's allowed, and he doesn't want to touch Harry with that bastard's blood on his hands, so he settles on tugging at the rag until Harry lets go of it.

"Tell me what it's like?"

Hair falling into his face, Harry says to Zayn's knee, "It's too petty to talk about now."

Dried blood is painful to rub off skin; dried blood is pesky. Zayn says, nudging at Harry's calf with one boot, "You can tell me anything, yeah?"

Harry takes a hand through his hair, making a face when it catches on one of his rings. He says, 'It's dumb now. We should have talked? I feel like you don't like, pay me any mind?"

"Which is absurd?" Zayn says. "How do you even get there?"

"Don't", Harry says, and then he kicks at a wheel, going away from the circle of light so Zayn can't see his face anymore. "Don't dismiss me, Zayn."

It's going pear shaped fast, and Zayn says, "I don't wanna cock it up, sorry. Come on. I just –"

Harry comes when he pulls, tripping a little as Zayn brings him between his knees, and Harry's the one who curls his fingers into the lapels of his jacket and kisses him.

His nose is cold, and there's whisky on his tongue, the drink the man bought him back at the bar with a horrible leer. Zayn's still a little angry at the way he touched Harry's throat. Harry must be able to tell, because he pulls away, says quietly, "It's not what you think."

"No?"

He allows Zayn to tug on his fingers, looking down at their hands. His mouth is wet, shadows soft on his cheeks.

"It's just that you go into your head, and you don't come back sometimes? I know I do that too, but I share?"

It catches Zayn off guard, and he must look it, because Harry laughs. He says, "No. You remember when we hunted that nest of vamps, and they were so fast, we had no idea what to do?"

"That was ages ago, Haz."

"Right, like", Harry picks at Zayn's collar, twisting it between his fingers, so tentative that Zayn strokes his hip. "You had all those vials? Dead man's blood, and I asked you so many times what they were and where you got 'em but you wouldn't tell me?"

"You didn't like that trick?"

"No, I didn't like the trick that saved my fucking neck, Jesus, Zayn", he says, dodging a slap, and then, "I just wished you'd told me."

It seems so small, and Harry's been angry at him for this long, it seems a little overbalanced. Harry's pulls his bottom lip in, nervous tick.

"Wanted to surprise you?" Zayn says.

"Oh, well, you did that", Harry says. He shrugs, tired lift and drop of his shoulders, "But just, even after, when you go off and research on your own, you never share, it's just, are we a team?"

"You didn't do any team work hunting that werewolf, Harry."

"Yeah well, if you aren't going to hunt with me, I won't hunt with you either."

"Wow, don't say it like that", Zayn says. Harry's fingers are rigid against him, like he's holding his breath; this could easily slide into a fight, feels more dangerous than the full moon, spreading its madness. Zayn feels like he's swallowed a mouthful of ice.

"I'm here, yeah?" He says. "I'm fine, we're a team. I can't hunt without you, Haz. Are you here?"

"Fuck, this is weird", Harry says, laughing. He strokes under Zayn's shirt, scratching against his collar bone. "Sorry. Yeah, I am, Zayn. Just. Don't fuck off."

"I won't", Zayn says. "Really, what would I do without you rigging my fries with kale?"

"Really", Harry says. "What would you do?"

"I think I would just die."

"Of malnutrition."

"Or of how great my food tastes for once?"

Harry pokes him, says, "Don't conspire against me, please." And Zayn says, "I would never", and Harry kisses him like he's almost as relieved as Zayn is, dizzy as he creeps his hands up Harry's flimsy shirt.

They kiss for long moments until Harry's making soft sounds and Zayn's mouth throbs. He can taste the copper of his own blood in Harry's mouth, blood and liquor, and that reminds him,

"What was that man about, then?"

Harry shakes his head, a gasp of laugh. He says, "Just fancied some angry sex but I don't think you got angry enough."

"Excuse you, I got plenty angry. Got his blood on my hands for you."

"Well, it's too late now", Harry shrugs, "We went and talked about our feelings."

Zayn strokes down Harry's back, and then uses his nails the way he knows Harry loves, Harry arching the way he knows Zayn loves, gripping his shoulder. He drops in for a kiss, pulling at Zayn's mouth, tongue going over the itch-burn of the wound.

He's still got the gun tucked into his waistband, doesn't notice when Zayn pulls it out to put it aside, their mouths sliding together. He does notice when Zayn brushes over his crotch, pulling away so they can both breathe.

"Get me off right here", Harry says, hand sliding to grip at his hair. Zayn's lungs squeeze. Like he could deny Harry anything on a night like this, with the sky black like sin and the air warm all around them.

"Tell me what you want", he says.

"Your hunter hands on my cock", Harry says, and he unzips his jeans, tugging at himself before Zayn can.

"My hunter hands or your own, babes?" Zayn says, taking over, making his fist tight.

"Yours", Harry says, pushing in. He's breathing fast, watching Zayn's hand. He says, "Yours, yours, yours."

He's on edge already, hard and easy for it in a way that makes Zayn's blood go hot. They've been together so long, they know how to give pleasure like they know how to hunt together, fitting together like the click of a clean gun.

He's pushing Harry's jeans down further, stroking down Harry's thighs, finding a spot of bruise that they always have everywhere, and Harry hisses, dick slick in Zayn's hand. Zayn wants to bite him, but later.

"Later", Harry gasps. "Take me to bed, Zayn."

"Want me to fuck you?"

"Want you to fuck me."

"I can do that", Zayn says, his stomach tight, burning low. He strokes up Harry's inner thighs, reaching in to press against him, and Harry makes a loud noise. It's startling in the small space.

He slumps against Zayn as Zayn reaches out a blind hand, wiping Harry's come on the rag. He kisses Zayn once, arms going loose around him.

This is all Zayn wanted, Harry breathing warm and sweet in his neck as his heart slows down, then kissing him, long and slow. 

"You drive", Harry says, drawing away and taking the heat with him, leaving Zayn to adjust his trousers. Harry's tucked himself in but his fly's undone as he swings away to grab his phone and the bag, taking away the light as well. He ducks into the car.

Zayn slides off, boot hitting tarmac, the knife in his boot hitting his ankle, and he thinks, _it's a New Moon, but where have the stars gone?_

The far side of the sky looks like its gathering storm, and for once Zayn feels something secure settle in his marrow. It's the one storm he doesn't wanna chase.  

Harry honks at him from within the car, making him laugh.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from History :) :)


End file.
